Nostalgia
by SaturnineSunshine
Summary: All the lies, hurt, and gossip is for something. Nostalgia. Even after four years, the past always brings us back. Sequel to Allusions and Reminiscence. Quotes of season four of Gossip Girl. Chuck and Blair. Blair and Chuck. Inevitable.
1. Belles du Jour

**A/N**: The Allusions series is back! It was a big decision for me to begin this again, so I hope you like it. I feel like I'm a little rusty, so tell me what you think.

**Summary**: She was too young for this. She felt the weight of him, even now. Even miles away in god knows what sort of country or condition, she could feel him. He was still all over her, staring, seeing, and knowing everything that no one else ever could.

**Disclaimer**: Nothing belongs to me. All quotes and characters are form the show Gossip Girl.

_**A celebratory proclamation: This first chapter is dedicated to my best friend Bella. She encouraged me to continue with this and it's her birthday. Happy birthday! I hope it is to your enjoyment.**_

* * *

**The Black Book**

_Please wake me up with a few of your stories from Chuck's little black book. I think the last time we spoke you made it through all the T's._

_Yeah, well let's just say 'V' is for 'Vivid' and leave it at that. I mean it's pretty awesome. I'm having tons of sex; I never have to eat dinner alone, and best of all I don't have to talk about anything._

Sometimes he looked through the listings and gazed at the B's. Of course her name would never be there. She was never those girls. She was the girl that he had known forever. She was the only girl that he could find himself looking at platonically. She was the only girl that he ever respected and actually liked.

Of course she wasn't in the book.

She was the girl that he never planned, never calculated. She just happened.

He just fell in love with her. She was never supposed to happen.

And then she just wasn't.

All of the conquests he accumulated over the years had found themselves recorded alphabetically and in the most dehumanizing way possible. The one and only person he had ever cared about would never find her way there.

But sometimes, he would just look.

He knew that she would never be there.

Just like she wasn't with him.

"Are you coming back to bed?"

Chuck paused, a glass of scotch seemingly frozen in his hand. For a moment, he was sure that he had been here before. He knew that phrase, he knew this situation, and he knew exactly where he was.

For a moment, he just stood there.

He couldn't remember her name. He couldn't remember how he had got to be here. All he knew was what he didn't have and what he would never have again.

It was better this way. When he was in the throes of casual and meaningless sex, he could just forget. Even if that meant forgetting exactly where he was.

"Are you alright?"

Nate found him in the bathroom. Chuck had placed his forehead against the cool sink. His migraine was starting to cede.

"The peak of perfection."

He put his face under the stream of water again.

"I couldn't help but notice…"

"Is she gone?"

"Who?" Nate asked.

Chuck straightened unsteadily to lock eyes with his best friend.

"Whoever was out there."

"I didn't see anyone."

"Was someone out there?"

Nate was quiet for a moment before speaking. "Are you feeling alright?"

"You already asked that," Chuck answered. "Why wouldn't I be alright?"

Nate shrugged noncommittally.

His own romantic problems made him see his friend better. His friend who was hurting and had done something shockingly selfless for the girl he had betrayed.

"I'm having the time of my life."

"I thought you said you were paying for your mistakes with—"

"So much that we don't have to talk about it," Chuck answered curtly, shouldering past him back into the living room.

"You know I'm here," Nate said.

"Now."

"Do you blame me?" Nate asked. "What you did—"

"I don't need reminding," Chuck answered. "That's the great thing about it. No talking. No thinking. Just doing."

"That doesn't sound healthy."

"Like I was such a posterchild before."

"You don't have to punish yourself."

"Because everyone else is doing the job for me."

Nate was quiet again. "I just hope you're alright. I already lost my best friend once—"

"Like I said," Chuck said, cutting him off. "Time of my life."

Nate watched him casually pick up the black book that was lying on the counter. He knew that what Chuck had done wasn't okay. It would never be okay.

But that didn't mean that he still wasn't suffering.

Nate knew exactly what his best friend was doing.

And no matter what anyone ever said, the possession of such a habit was never a good sign.

**Wishes**

_At night, when you fall asleep, who are you wishing for?_

It was only in the darkness where she could stop pretending. She tolerated phone calls from her mother and sustained looks from her best friend. But she was in Paris, the greatest city in the world.

She was too young for this. She felt the weight of him, even now. Even miles away in god knows what sort of country or condition, she could feel him. He was still all over her, staring, seeing, and knowing everything that no one else ever could.

He could always find her in the darkness.

Even now when it was all she could do just to push him away, even though he was nowhere to be found.

She was okay with it.

More than okay. This is what she wanted. He never ceased to break her heart and this year had been the undeniable truth of that.

Even when she was seventeen she had understood that. They could never work. His selfishness and narcissism would always overtake them.

That's what she told herself in the daylight. It was worse than that. She just ignored those thoughts altogether. They didn't exist. There was nothing. All there had to be was Blair and the freedom and happiness she finally had. She was cultured and beautiful and no one could take that away from her.

He always found her in the darkness.

It was in those moments that she let herself be weak. She knew that her best friend's weakness had always been variety. She could never make up her mind, never knew what she wanted.

Blair always had the opposite problem. There was only one thing that she ever wanted and she didn't know if there really was anything else.

She still felt as though she was waiting for him. She didn't feel wholly herself. This wasn't it. He was missing and she felt empty. Without the pain, there was nothing. There was no substance but most of all, it was just him. She pushed him away during the day, but alone as she stared up at her ceiling, she really allowed herself to think.

She didn't know what she wished for.

But it was him. She didn't wish and she didn't desire. She just wanted existence. She just wanted knowledge.

She just wanted him. She just wanted to see him and not always have to look over her shoulder to feel as though something was missing.

She couldn't have his love. She knew that was gone.

But when it came to her, Chuck Bass was just part of the deal. So when she curled up in the nothingness that surrounded, it wasn't wishes that she had. It was just one tangible thing.

It was just Chuck Bass.

"Do you miss me as much as I miss you?"

Despite all the hurt and the lies and the gossip, it was just him. She just needed him to be in sight. As selfish a thing as it was, she needed it. She needed his proximity.

They were the same. And without him, she knew she was lost too.


	2. Belles du Jour Part II

A/N: So I confused myself with this new system of writing that I've been doing but I haven't forgotten about Nostalgia! Never. So here's the next chapter.

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. Quotes belong to Gossip Girl as well as characters and pretty much everything else. Thanks so much to Kasey for being my beta

* * *

**Gone**

_So you have no idea where he is?_

_Well Charles didn't exactly leave town on good terms and even when he does, he finds it best not to tell us where he's going. For our own sakes._

The note was crumpled up in the bottom drawer of her vanity.

Or she would have liked it to have been crumpled. Truth be told, it was buried underneath tons of useless objects that she made sure she would never need. But the note was as straight and flat as ever. And in the darkness, when all her resolve was sapped by the day, she would dig through the drawer and stare at the distinctive penmanship.

And she knew that he was truly gone. Not just in the way that she would muse about during the day, thinking of all the other times he had dissipated, but in the more permanent way—that he might never be coming back.

Nate was wrapped up in his romance across the bridge, Serena had abandoned her for her flickering flame and she felt just as hopeless as she had the previous year.

But it was worse this time. This time, she knew she loved him.

And what was the point in that?

_"She won't even leave her room. Cyrus told me that he just fled even after she told him—"_

Blair hadn't expected her mother to be having company so late in the evening. Especially when she thought she would be alone.

Instead Blair walked in on her having tea with Lily van der Woodsen. She was sure she had retained her maiden name by now.

"Mother," Blair said as she stepped into the living room, wiping away the humiliation that she was sure the entire Upper East Side was aware of by now.

"Darling," Eleanor said without losing composure. "I wasn't sure you'd be… up an about."

It was everything that her mother didn't say, and Blair knew that from her mother's words, the entire neighborhood considered her a leper by now.

Instead, Lily only greeted her with the most gracious of words.

"Blair. It's so good to see you."

"Mother, I thought you were out tonight," Blair said instead, ignoring her graces.

"We decided to have a nice, quiet gathering—"

Blair didn't bother staying to listen to the rest. She just walked into the kitchen as her mother trailed off. She didn't want to hear what she was sure would be more embarrassing excuses on her behalf.

She heard footsteps follow her and was about to snap at her mother, but instead came face to face with Lily. She was smiling at her and Blair couldn't help but cringe at the thought of her appearance. She hadn't worn make-up in two weeks and was sure her outfit was less than befitting.

"It really is good to see you."

"You said," Blair returned shortly. She watched Lily's studious eyes. She didn't blame her. When she looked in the mirror, Blair couldn't recognize herself either.

"I'm sorry," Blair finally said in apology, collapsing into a chair. She willed her eyes not to give up in emotion, but Lily sat be her side, putting a comforting hand on her arm.

"Your mother said—"

"Something she had no right," Blair said sternly. But she felt it coming. She hated her weakness. And she hated him. He was the only one who could make her cry like this. Especially when she didn't want to.

She knew he wasn't reclining on whatever polygamous island he was on and feeling regret over her. She knew she had to forget him. She knew she had to shut him from her mind, but all she could feel was heartache. All she could do was love him, even after everything he did to her.

It wouldn't have surprised her if it were because of everything she did. She knew she had to be some sort of masochist.

"I was hoping you heard from him."

"Why would he do that?" Blair asked. "He's gone."

"Not forever," Lily said. "You know he grieves in his own way. And he can't stay away."

"I think it's very easy for him to stay away," Blair said coldly.

"It isn't," Lily said. "It's easy for you to turn cold, but you can't. Not when he needs you now more than ever. Especially with the way he feels about you."

"He doesn't." Blair had always been cold and hard. She was just returning to form. It was him that had made her feel something. And she couldn't let it anymore.

But Lily just smiled.

"You know he does. He wouldn't be doing what he's doing. He's trying to protect you."

"That's his excuse," Blair replied curtly. "Men don't tell you that you're too good for them. Men don't think that way."

"He said that to you?"

Blair knew she had walked into that trap and just turned her head away.

"Besides," Lily said. "You're far too young to think that way. He'll come back. He doesn't tell us where he's going so we won't worry."

"You think he cares anything about you?" Blair finally snapped. "He hates you. More than he's apathetic to me. He wants nothing to do with you."

All she wanted was to destroy everything like she had been destroyed. But Lily didn't give her the satisfaction. All she did was smooth her hair like a mother to a daughter.

"I'll check back in on you."

"Why?" Blair couldn't help but ask in exasperation.

"Because you're his family. And as much as he denies it, I will always be his."

"He's not worth your time."

She hated Lily for never faltering.

"The fact that you say that means you feel the opposite," Lily said. "He'll come back to you. He has to."

Blair hated all the faith that Lily had.

All she could do was sit in the emotional wreckage he had made for her.

**Summer**

_She's a friend of a friend._

_Well, what kind of friend is that?_

_The kind that leaves me his little black book for the summer._

That night, Nate had taken to wondering the streets. He didn't want to find himself alone in the penthouse—for that entire week, actually.

But when he finally found himself in that familiar elevator, he wished he had come sooner.

It didn't take long for him to find his best friend and immediately he was wracked with guilt. Just from the sight of him, Nate knew Chuck had been through more than Nate had realized.

There wasn't a question.

Though there was no doubt they had been through some disagreements since moving into the penthouse, Nate could never deny his best friend.

From his heap on the bathroom floor, Chuck looked up at him, his eyes glazed over. To Nate's recollection, he was wearing the same suit he had been six days ago. Now it was covered in alcohol, narcotics and only God knew what else.

He didn't hesitate.

"Come on," Nate sighed, immediately bending down next to Chuck. He looped his friend's arm over his shoulders and hoisted him up. A deep groan emanated from the back of the boy's throat but Nate knew him well enough to know he held his liquor.

He wasn't afraid of Chuck boiling over.

He walked him over to the bed and dumped him clumsily on it.

Blair had always been better at this—but as soon as the thought entered Nate's mind, he brushed it off. He should have come sooner. He should have realized what had happened. And he should remember to stop thinking about her like she was still here.

"Why are you even bothering?"

Nate was halfway out of the bedroom when he heard it. It could have been in Chuck's sleep, but Nate stopped anyway. He turned around to see dark eyes shining at him in the blackness.

"You're my best friend."

It was the best explanation there was. It was all there was.

"She's not coming back." Chuck's voice was even softer than it had been before.

Nate wondered if he was slipping off to sleep. But he knew his best friend better than that. He knew the masochistic insomniac could never allow himself the comfort of sleep.

"Well I am," Nate said. "No matter what. Even though you might think differently."

"I don't deserve it," he said, still quiet. "You said just as much yourself."

"Maybe," Nate said. "But you were right too."

"Best friends don't mean much after what I did."

"Go to sleep, Chuck."

He didn't care. Because they were both right.

It was the next day when Chuck was roused and clean in a different suit, though still heavily intoxicated. Suitcases were in the foyer and Chuck was incoherently instructing Arthur on the phone**. **Then again, he could understand every dialect since Chuck was thirteen.

"Going somewhere?"

"As far as I can," Chuck answered. His eyes had a hint of clarity, but not as much as Nate would have liked.

But there wasn't anything more that he could say. Both of them knew that.

"Don't look so downcast, Nathaniel," Chuck said. "I'm leaving you a parting gift."

Nate looked at him in surprise as Chuck slid him the little black book. It was a thing of infamy and Nate never thought he would be able to see it with his own eyes.

"You're kidding."

"Not about this."

It finally occurred to Nate.

"Where are you going?"

Chuck's eyes became clouded again.

"If this is about Bl—"

"I'm leaving," Chuck said definitively. "Enjoy your gift. We'll see if you can get through the T's by the end of the summer."

Nate reluctantly took the book in his hands.

"But it's just for the summer, right?" Nate didn't want to see Chuck's expression. He knew what the answer was before he even asked it.

But he had to ask it.

He felt his best friend's eyes on him, dark, but without anything familiar in them. Just nothingness.

"Of course."

Chuck's voice was dead and apathetic.

Nate could never influence him, especially when it came to the only girl that could ever resort him to nothing. But he wished that for once, he could believe his best friend's lies.

He wished he could believe that he was coming back.


	3. Belles du Jour Part III

AN: I thought that this would be a nice day to try and get back in the swing of things. And Merry Christmas to everyone!

Summary: "I've been acting like I'm okay, but I'm not. They say it's a broken heart, but I hurt in my whole body. What if I stay like this forever? What if I never get over Chuck?"

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. Quotes and characters belong to GG.

* * *

**Name**

_Did I hear you say Chuck? Blair will not even mention his name. She never even told me why they broke up._

The day Dorota brought Anastasia home, Blair was confined to her bed. Though she had promised she would make it back to the hospital—and despite the fact that she actually did—she never made it to see Dorota's new daughter.

"Dorota said you were going to meet Chuck."

Eleanor looked over at her daughter's form beneath her covers. She was sure she had been over this. But again, something had resorted Blair into the headcase she had been weeks before.

"I didn't realize you were back together."

"We're not together anymore."

It was the first thing her daughter had said in a week.

"Blair," Eleanor said softly. "I am—"

"Concerned?"

She knew this little girl—_her_ little girl laying her head in her lap begging for a semester in France. And suddenly she was beginning to understand. She understood the tears and the transformation she had seen in Blair for the past three years.

This girl was in love. And had been for a very long time.

And this girl's heart was broken.

"Maybe if you—"

Blair was sitting up suddenly, but her eyes wouldn't meet her mother's.

"I already spoke to Daddy," Blair answered. "I'm spending the summer there."

And just like that she was gone. Gone was the ecstatic girl from the year before just as he was gone—the person that made her daughter a vibrant and radiant young woman.

Her suggestions were going unnoticed just as they always did. Though she was sure her daughter would bounce back from this as she always did. But reports from her ex-husband proved the opposite and even though Blair's better half and best friend accompanied her everywhere, it didn't stop the uncertainty.

Though Blair could put on a good front for almost anyone**, **it didn't include her mother. She was the woman that had taught her everything and even though she had only communicated with her by phone for the entire summer, she could still tell.

All she heard were the words of a shopping and cultured vacation, but she still new better. She heard Lily raving about all the young men her daughter was meeting.

And also how her adoptive son was still missing in action.

"Lily was saying how Charles—"

"Mother, I have to go."

"What is so pressing that you have to ignore your mother's calls?"

"I hate to break it to you, but some things are more important than your weekly update of socialite scandal."

"That wasn't what I was going to say."

"Well, I have to go anyway—"

"Blair," Eleanor said. "Charles has been missing for three months."

"Well I hope he's having fun."

"You know where he is?"

"Of course not."

"Do you miss him?"

"Mother!"

"It's just a question."

"And that's my answer."

"That's not an answer."

"Why does it matter?" her daughter burst out. "You never liked him to begin with."

"Of course I do."

"Did," Blair corrected. "And it doesn't matter. He's done. I'm done. It's over."

"But why—"

"I really have to go now."

"I'm sure Chuck misses you."

"He-", Eleanor heard her daughter stutter on the end of the line. "He doesn't. He doesn't anything. He doesn't exist."

He might as well not have.

Blair was always running the reel of the movie inside her head. She had just decided that Chuck Bass' scenes were cut. She had no use for him any longer.

As his name was erased from her memory, so was he.

And Eleanor knew that so was her daughter.

**Broken**

_I've been acting like I'm okay, but I'm not. They say it's a broken heart, but I hurt in my whole body. What if I stay like this forever? What if I never get over Chuck?_

It wasn't the first time. In fact, it wasn't even the worst time. But it was the last time. And that's what broke her.

His eyes kept flashing before her in her dreams—sad, helpless, and regretful.

But none of it mattered.

In fact, she should have been expecting it. He had done this before. He had sabotaged and ripped her apart more times than she could ever count. But this was it. He hadn't made a deal behind her back, he hadn't refused to tell her the one thing that she needed to hear, and he hadn't abandoned her with only a three-lined note to replace him.

It wasn't the worst. But it was the last.

That was what hurt so much.

The image of him intertwined with some peroxide poisoned gothic princess was what ended it for her. It wasn't what he did. It was the fact that he did anything at all.

He had done it again. And as he fell to the floor, the thought of what he was holding vanished from her mind. All she saw was him in a heap, the remains of another girl's virginity tarnished all around them, and she felt the unrestrained tears corrupting her eyes.

In that moment, she knew it was the end. It had to be. She couldn't do this anymore. He couldn't hurt her forever.

But it didn't stop. She kept seeing him. He was in the fireworks behind her eyes. He was always with her.

"_Do you miss me?"_

She never called him. Never contacted him. She didn't know where he was, but somehow, he was always there.

"_I miss you."_

She tried to shut out his voice, but his eyes were filled with such pain, she felt it seep into her gut. She never said anything, but his voice always filled her head in the darkness.

She looked at Monet and finally felt as though she could be happy, but even the sight of fountains and _Baccarat_ made her heart hurt for him.

They still hurt together.

"_I hurt for you."_

Only in the night could she admit it. And now it took her so long to even say it out loud. Blue eyes looked at her with sorrow, but it just made her crumble even more.

"_Don't you miss me too?"_

Only in the night could she admit she was broken. And as much as she wanted to move on and become a princess, if being without the hurt meant being without him forever, she wasn't sure if she could make that choice.

**Dream**

_You had the dream again. I hoped it wouldn't follow us from Prague._

_I guess I'll have to give it more time._

When he first opened his eyes, he thought he was dead. Unfamiliar blue eyes met his and he was sure this was after the end.

But he felt the stabbing pain in his side that he thought was just a dream and suddenly everything came flooding back—the strong scent of Vodka stinging his nose, his immobility, the unfamiliarity of his surroundings.

He knew life, and this was definitely it—hard, painful, and never ending.

Even as a bullet had burrowed its way into him, his heart kept on beating. He still kept on breathing. The memories of every single thing he had ever done still kept whirling around in his brain.

This was no dream.

And her.

The ethereal blonde with her thick accent and had a strange affinity for saving her life.

"What's your name?"

"Henry. Henry Prince."

And suddenly he was. Now everything seemed so clear. This was an opportunity. He could be someone else, make amends. And it was easy.

He was this person. He could be a good boyfriend and a good person. She would smile at him and not ask him about what exactly he was doing in that particular red light district of Prague.

For the first time, someone trusted him.

And he had earned that trust.

Finally, everyone was all right.

But then the night came. It was the only time he hated being alone. Because no matter how caring and loving she was and no matter how comforting she was when she slept next to him, it didn't stop the nightmares.

Life was hard.

This was harder.

He never expected to be rid of his demons so easily. But whenever he closed his eyes, her dark ones still stared back at him, heartbroken, more times than he could count.

Her slap still hit him just as hard. Her tears were just as fresh. And just like he was experiencing it again, he couldn't help but feel as though that bullet was something he had earned.

He choked on his own breath as he sat up abruptly in bed. He didn't say her name out loud this time, like he had for the past few nights.

Eva was still slumbering peacefully.

And he hated himself. He didn't deserve a beautiful French girl that saved his life. He should have died on that street. He should have died thinking of dark eyes and betrayal.

He just made it to the bathroom.

His wound had been making him sick, but that was half way to healed. Now all he could do was keep his hyperventilation to a minimum as he locked the door behind him.

"_I'm sorry."_

He couldn't remember how many times he had whispered this to himself. But it was always behind the bathroom door and always as quietly as he could. This wasn't something that the good Henry Prince would do. This was Chuck Bass.

And Chuck Bass was dead.

"_I'm so sorry."_

She couldn't hear him. But it was better this way. It was better for everyone. Chuck Bass was dead and he was going to stay that way. She would never see him again. She would never be submitted to his destructive nature. Finally she could be free without him.

"Henry?"

"Blair?"

The door opened and he felt a slight shock.

Eva.

He took a deep breath. It was just instinct.

"What did you just say?" Eva asked.

"Nothing," Chuck said. "It was nothing."

"What did you dream about?"

"What?" Chuck asked. He always felt this confusion. He cursed himself for saying the name he swore to himself he would never say again. It had just been instinct, but he was done with that. He was just a little confused was all.

But he promised himself that he would never be confused again.

"I know you've been having nightmares every night."

"I didn't mean to wake you," Chuck said, limping lightly out of the bathroom.

"Tell me," Eva said.

"It's just about that night," Chuck said. "It'll pass."

Eva smiled sweetly at him.

It had to pass.

It just had to.


	4. Double Identity

A/N: If you haven't guessed before, I am most definitely continuing this. It is my plan to not only finish this but maybe even do a season five and six version, even though the show is over. I'm not done yet.

Disclaimer: Nothing beings to me. All quotes and characters are Gossip Girl.

* * *

**Sighting**

_I can't talk to him, S. You don't know what it was like. Seeing him, even through the car window. _

This wasn't how it was supposed to be.

But there he was.

In the middle of a crowded Parisian street, almost being run over her cab, there he was.

This wasn't how she imagined it.

Not that she could ever admit that she thought of what it would be like the first time she would see him again. But this wasn't it. This couldn't be it.

Chuck Bass. Breaker of hearts. Heir to millions.

And there she was, sitting in a taxicab in a foreign country. It almost seemed like it was supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to be here. Of all the streets in Paris, he happened to be on this one.

In fact, in all the cities in all the world.

Some might say fate.

But as soon as she saw the look of wonder on his face and the cane he used to propel himself forward, she shut all of those thoughts down.

He was stalking her. That was the only explanation she could ever allow herself. He was obsessed and not over her and followed her to another country. Even though he was wearing a vest and jeans and even though he didn't look put together, with a slight limp in his gait, she had to tell herself that there was nothing amiss.

He was selfish and following her.

Nothing was wrong.

If something were wrong, that would be the end of it. If he wasn't looking for her and it was completely by chance, she would break.

He wasn't looking for her and he didn't want her to know that he was there. He was limping and poor.

That was the definition of wrong.

So she shut it out of her head.

She ignored those glaring facts. He was the same narcissistic bastard he had always been, not a care in the world for her feelings and her emotional state towards him.

This was all that she could handle.

Because even though he was selfish and cruel, she loved him. That was something she could never ignore. And she was nowhere near ready enough to see him—him and his glaringly dark eyes, his smug smirk, and his commanding face.

The way he looked at her.

Seeing him again would make her heart bleed. It wasn't the terrors and atrocities that he had done to her that she would remember. It was the way he made her feel. It was the love in his eyes and the way he made her sigh.

She would love him again.

If something were wrong with him on top of all that, she would be done. If she saw his limp and his unwonted attire, that cab would have stopped. She would have never told the driver to keep going and thrown open that door.

She would love him again.

Even looking through that window, she knew it. She felt as though she had been waiting to see those eyes for eons. She missed him. She loved him. She couldn't live without him.

Even through that window and one second of eye contact.

She couldn't do it.

She couldn't love him again.

"Suddenly we're stopping for pedestrians?"

She was glad someone else was driving she could have lost all sense of control.

She had been lucky.

"_Vite_."

It was only a second of eye contact. Her heart bled and he was left in only the rearview mirror.

One second was all it was.

And it was one second too many.

**Surety**

_I've been waiting for the right thing to spend it on._

_It doesn't look small to me._

_It's enough to get us to London. Then Kerala._

_Are you sure you want to do this?_

_I've never been more sure of anything._

She had been surprised.

That was the only thing that he was sure of.

Leaning on a cane in a waiter's uniform was not the way Chuck had envisioned Blair seeing him again. But if he were being honest, he envisioned her never seeing him again at all. She was never supposed to see him again. She was supposed to move on with her life and find someone to love her who wasn't so destructive.

Now he was sure someone was out to get him.

There she had been. Wide, dark eyes staring up at him as he felt paralyzed. He could always count on her to think on her feet and politely pretend like nothing had happened.

But something had happened.

And it was the one thing that he never wanted. Despite popular belief, he wasn't thinking about just himself all the time. He wanted her to be happy, even if it didn't include him—especially if it didn't include him.

He was in a daze by the time he reached the restaurant, only half understanding the French being thrown at him. If there was one thing Blair was good at, it was sabotaging his plans. Whether it was intentional or not, no one caused trouble like Blair Waldorf.

And he should have known that the moment he could smell her perfume in the air, Chuck Bass would be roused within him.

He put a smile on his face and spoke cordial French to the drunks in the bar, but when they had all left, her could feel his features morph and darkness settle over him. It was a familiar and comforting darkness that always kept him safe.

It was the kind of darkness that was only accompanied by the passionate, all-consuming love that he had been denying himself for three months.

And like any addiction, withdrawals were natural.

But he couldn't be weak. He would not let himself be weak anymore. Even though it was her—it was _her_—he couldn't do it. He couldn't ruin her life again. He couldn't surrender to the only thing that had ever made him happy.

He had to keep her safe. No matter what happened, she belonged to him. And he belonged to her. Nothing could ever sever that bond. And even though he had destroyed them in the most eternal sense, he had to protect her.

He couldn't come to her again. He couldn't look at her again. He couldn't even be in the same city as her. He knew that destruction would always follow. Combustion always accompanied them when they were in each other's proximity.

He had to be away from her.

He had to leave her for good.

He had never been more sure of anything.

**Lost**

_I know that things were bad in New York. But if you don't come home, you'll lose the Empire. You'll lose everything you ever cared about._

_I already lost the only thing I cared about. They can have everything else._

He never intended to wake up. Pain scalded him and he was plagued with nightmares of every sin he had ever committed.

That wasn't even the worst of it.

He could still remember the worst.

"You wouldn't betray me like this."

He still remembered her face.

"I couldn't let my feelings cost me all that I've built."

"Even if it means losing me instead."

He still remembered his response.

"You went up there on your own."

Now it was clear to him a slap was the least of what he'd deserved. He deserved the exile and the guilt that ravaged him from the inside.

He deserved to be drawn and quartered.

He knew that now. Now that he had lost everything, he understood that.

Eva was kind. Eva was beautiful. That wasn't anything he deserved either. But it meant that he wasn't Chuck Bass any longer. That was an honor he could do without. That was a moniker he would be glad never to see again.

Soulless.

Monster.

Beast.

It had all been too little too late and now Chuck Bass was gone.

It was for the better.

Even if it was nothing, it was for the better.

He had always had the impression that he could blunder through life, hitting and smashing into things and although great damage was done, it would never be so great to be irreparable.

He never even cared if it could be repaired before.

She changed him. And even if he was worse off, it was for the best.

The moment he hit the pavement—probably even before that—he knew that he had lost. He wouldn't have held onto that ring so tight if he thought he would have her again. Thieves were thieves and he could have easily just gone after them if he gave it up.

But he needed it as he needed her, even as the bullet tore through his insides. And it wasn't the worst pain he had ever felt. Not by a long shot. He preferred this external and physical pain to the emotional turmoil he had caused.

And nothing mattered. He had been a mistake since the moment he was conceived and that would never change. Every choice he made was a mistake.

The only thing he had ever gotten right was her. He should have known he would have destroyed that like he did everything else. None of that mattered.

He knew that as he lay bleeding to death on the street.

"This whole night didn't happen."

He knew it was better. His ring, his name, his life could be taken from him. But she was the only thing.

He would gladly watch the Empire fall into ruin and obscurity. He would relish in it. It wasn't her.

And without her, he was lost.


	5. Double Identity Part II

A/N: I have to say I'm a little concerned. I'm not a review monger, but when I don't get any reviews, I get worried that no one's reading. If that's the case, I don't know if I could continue this. I love writing this. It's one of my favorite things to write, but if I'm only writing for myself and no one cares anymore, then I can't see the purpose. I understand if this is getting repetitive, dull, or tedious. I can also understand if you're busy and don't have time to review. It's not a big deal, I'd just like to know if people are still reading or interested. If there's even one person that wants to continue this, please let me know. If not, thanks for sticking with me all this way.

* * *

**Carats, Clarity, Charisma**

_Monsieur Grimaldi would want me to be sure it was perfect. Like that. Carats, clarity, charisma. Not that I expected Louis to get me a ring so soon, but this is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen._

It was beautiful. The way it sparkled. The way it shone. For a moment, all logic was meaningless. She was nineteen. She shouldn't have even been thinking about marriage. But in that one moment she knew.

In that moment, all she knew was that it was hers. It was the strangest thing, but for her, she knew it was hers. Where she was or where whom it originally belonged to didn't occur to her at all.

This was her ring. It was perfect for her.

"I see you've found Mr. Bass' stolen property."

And then she was thrust back into reality.

She knew it. She had known it.

This ring belonged to her as it had belonged to him.

She couldn't think of it. She couldn't think of what he had been feeling or seeing when he laid his eyes on it for the first time. She knew it was the same thing that she was feeling. The terror. The sensation.

It was the earthshattering feeling that this was it. They loved each other. He had broken her heart but they loved each other. The moment he saw it was the moment it became hers. He knew it was for her. It was practically made for her.

He had chosen it with the intent to give her something that no one before had ever volunteered in giving. It wasn't the Vanderbilt diamond. This was a ring that would be passed down for generations in her family and be remembered for the people that they were.

_My great-grandmother's ring._

_The one that Charles Bass gave her._

This was the diamond her beloved bought for her with the intent to be bound to her forever.

And once again, her heart was broken.

She stared it at, the facets sparkling sadly at her.

It would always belong to her. The same way that Chuck Bass would always be a part of her.

But it wasn't for her.

He was gone from her. She knew that, even as her fingers curled around the box.

**Fight**

_Why was Chuck's blood on the wallet?_

_Mr. Bass would not let go of the ring. He fought them hard._

It wasn't a choice. That much was clear to him when he realized what was happening. Arms restrained him, hands being thrust into his pocket. And none of it mattered. He understood what was happening.

Frankly, he assumed it would happen to him at some point. He was very clearly a man of means who happened to always being wandering in the wrong side of town. Especially now when he was in the red light district, he wasn't surprised.

Inebriation clouded his brain and the thought that one little box was sitting innocently in his pocket hadn't even occurred to him. It hadn't occurred until his pocket was breached.

It was in the back of his mind, always existing, but never really dwelling over it. But he had always known its exact location and he knew exactly what was happening when foreign fingers closed over it.

There was never any choice. There was no thought of letting it go. There was no negotiating with them in any respect.

It was the ring. _The_ ring that was the only thing he had left of her. He knew that he would never need it again. He knew it would have no real tangible use. But it was hers. There never was an alternative.

He only let go when he heard the gunshot—when he _felt_ the gunshot. And even then, he only felt his fingers slip away because they were covered in blood and he couldn't very well stay standing, let alone realize he wasn't holding onto it any longer.

It was the only thing that he had left.

It was her. She shone and sparkled like that ring. She was multi-faceted and beautiful. And despite the fact that she would never even look at him in the vast eternity that would be his life from now on, he needed it.

Even if that eternity was quickly slipping away.

He was slipping.

But as his heart slowed and the footsteps of the thieves faded into the night, he could finally see her. Her face wasn't wrought with destruction or streaming with tears. It was just her.

He could see her again.

And he knew that he would always fight when it came to her.

**One and Only**

_This is Chuck we're talking about. He really could just disappear._

_If you're so torn up about it, stop him._

_You and I both know you're the only one that can do that._

It had always been a fluke. She was well aware of that. Chuck Bass and Blair Waldorf were never supposed to happen. This was something that she found herself repeating over and over.

Chuck was a soulless monster. Her loving him was just a crazy twist that life had thrown her. Maybe it was a lesson. But no matter what it was, she knew that being with him wasn't what fate had in mind for her. She was a Waldorf. She deserved princes and American royalty. Whatever Chuck was, it was too hard to be considered correct.

It wasn't proper.

Then again, a recessive part of her knew that was just the guilt talking.

_ Chuck got shot?_

It kept echoing in her brain again and again.

Her fault? She thought not. He brought this on himself. But that didn't stop the fact that she cared. She was sure this was just a fluke—even if she couldn't think of any fluke that lasted two and a half years.

_ Chuck got shot?_

Fluke, fluke, fluke.

_ Chuck got shot._

Not a question anymore.

Whether it was kismet or not, it didn't stop the facts. Blair always tried to think the most logically, the most cleverly. But the thing about Chuck was he kept her circling back to one action. One truth. One accident.

The facts were that she knew Chuck, and Chuck knew her. From the beginning of time until the end, they could look at each other and know exactly what the other was thinking.

In some way, they were together. They had been since they met and she couldn't think of a life without him.

He listened to her. He cared about her.

_She better not show her face again._

_ I'm actually hoping she will._

They were always that way. He always knew her, always smirked at her.

And then she fell in love with him.

She hadn't realized it at first. That was the hard part. She had to listen to him call her names and break her heart without even realizing why it made her cry in her mother's lap. It wasn't until six months later that it actually occurred to her that she had accomplished the impossible. She had done something no one had ever done before and wasn't likely to do again.

She had fallen in love with Chuck Bass.

And she had no idea that he had done it quicker and harder than she. He always did things that way. He went all the way. He went hard and fast until he broke himself.

And now he had gotten himself hurt.

Turning away from him was the hardest thing she had to do. She felt like a sixteen year old again, ignoring the signs. She didn't watch how he looked at her when they were alone and didn't listen to logic that told her why he blogged horrible things about her.

Ignorance was bliss and ignorance came in the form of a prince this time.

She kept circling back.

And she kept thinking the same thing. She never knew what this was like. She never dreamed about this when she was little. She never read it in her storybooks as a child. Chuck Bass was an enigma and that was the reason she didn't know what to do.

She didn't have a plan. She didn't have a formula. She didn't have design plans when it came to Chuck Bass so she ran away scared in her high heels.

Serena was never supposed to be the voice of reason either.

Chuck always had the habit of turning things upside-down.

Chuck was never supposed to have a soul, nor a heart. He was that amusing entertainment on the sideline and a good ally.

You didn't fall in love with your advisors. Queens didn't fall in love with their appointed knights—especially the dark ones. They had their princes. They had kings.

But she had never held up a prince before. All she kept thinking was the way she held up her dark knight as he purged alcohol and grief. She thought of how she curled around him even as he left notes and cruelty.

"Don't do this."

She had whispered it to him when his night was darkest and then he had found his way to her bed.

He had run himself ragged with his whores and controlled substances.

Tears ran down his face and he apologized to her.

He was her partner and her other half. Even though he had destroyed any sort of future for them, she knew that much was true.

She felt that when he looked at her, he could actually see.

Not a fluke.

He came to her after his father's funeral and he spoke to Lily at Columbia when she asked and never once had she considered the reason.

Not a fluke.

Invisible strings connected them at the heart and when she looked at him, she could finally breathe.

He was a loose cannon. He had always been an insufferable rogue that smashed into everything in his path just to see it break. But she would clean his wounds, wipe his hair back, and look into his eyes.

And he would smile.

He would open his eyes and see everything for the first time and finally, everything could be all right.

_ I'm actually hoping she will._

What else could she do?


End file.
